Chapter Fourteen
Luke
We’ve been in this bar all of a minute and Cassidy is grabbing this stranger’s wrist and cooing in her ear.
The girl grabs her hand right back, her posture straightening. “Are you sure? Gosh, I must look like a walking cry for help.”
Cassidy’s voice floats over the hustle and bustle of food service. “Just so we’re clear, I’m loving everything that’s happening with your outfit. And your hair.”
“Really?” The girl looks down at her stomach. “I feel like a house. I guess I am, technically, a house for this child. My hair is the only thing I like about myself right now.”
Cassidy gestures at the girl’s red curls. “Your hair is an entire personality. It’s the prototype girls ask for at a salon. It’s a Pinterest board all on its own.”
Her face brightens. “Wow. That’s so nice of you. It’s just box dye. Your hair is what mine aspires to be, if I could ever afford to get it professionally colored.”
“I once took a box of Sharpies to this fire mop. Don’t be like me.”
What the hell am I listening to?
The girl’s laugh shakes her whole body. “That is epic. I hope you chose fun colors.”
Cassidy quirks a smile. “I tried them all.”
Our neighbor rests her hands on her stomach. “I’m Lena.”
“Cassidy. Nice to meet you. Now talk to me about this headband. Where did you get it?”
Something strange happens in my body as Cassidy continues to pepper Lena with questions. A deja vu of sorts.
First, it was the woman at the rental counter, whom Cassidy was ready to share a coffee with for no discernible reason. Then it was twenty-one questions with Colton. I suspect there was a reason for his interest—Cassidy’s looks could rouse the dead—but she held her own, carrying the conversation like a pro and inquiring about his job and hobbies. And now it’s Lena, who looks about one right question away from spilling her deepest secrets all over this bar top, all at Cassidy’s gentle hand.
Cassidy is some kind of mind reader. She seems to know what people need within minutes of meeting them, whether it’s a soothing gesture, a heart-to-heart, or a bad joke, and delivers it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I fix my gaze on the jelly caddy, spinning it until it consumes my attention. It’s almost enough of a distraction from the unsettling pulsing in my chest.
The bartender drops off menus and waters in front of me and Cassidy. I grasp the pebbled plastic cup and drain it in one gulp.
When she returns to take our order, I spit out mine in a hurry. “Two eggs and bacon, thanks.”
Cassidy leans back in her stool and hits me with a look. “That’s it? You haven’t eaten in ages.”
I also lean back, crossing my arms. The clatter of the diner masks my rumbling stomach. “I’m fine.”
She narrows those eyes of hers. “This isn’t about the money again, is it? Please order whatever you want.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Two eggs and bacon is plenty.”
“What about your sausage needs?”
“I don’t have that particular need right now, but thank you for your concern.”
Her lips pull into a tight line. “You bought me a small bodega’s worth of snacks. I have to right this cosmic imbalance.”
“You really don’t.”
She pivots her attention to the bartender. “I’ll have a King’s breakfast, eggs scrambled. Plus an additional order of turkey sausage. Oh, and one order of biscuits and gravy.”
“Cassidy, please tell me that’s all for you. I’m really fine.”
This time, she leans forward instead of back to catch my eye, perching her elbows on the bar. “Self-obsessed much? This is all for me.” She beams at the bartender. “That guy is on my tab. Unless he gives you trouble, in which case he can wash dishes for his meal.”
“Anything else, hon?”
“Yes. Extra plates, for sharing. No way I can eat all this food on my own.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Lena tosses me a curious look, and then Cassidy. “Is this your boyfriend? Husband?”
“Uber driver.” Cassidy jabs her thumb my way. “He was cranky, so I assumed he was hungry and invited him to lunch.”
I roll my eyes and continue spinning my jelly holder.
Seconds later, a noise that sounds suspiciously like sniffling hits my ear. “Your Uber driver joined you for lunch, and I can’t even get my best friends to show up. What am I doing wrong?”
“Oh, hey.” Cassidy squeezes Lena’s shoulder. “I’m sure you aren’t doing anything wrong. And he’s not my Uber driver. That was a silly joke. What’s going on?”
“This was supposed to be my baby shower.” She shakes her head like she’s cursing herself. “Three of my friends agreed to do this for me, a nice, low-key celebration. I made my own cake and everything. They’re holding it in the walk-in fridge.
“Then, at the last minute, Naomi said her mom found out they were planning this and called the other parents. They thought it was a bad idea. So I told the girls not to bother showing up. I don’t want them fighting with their families on my account, you know? My boyfriend and I are both eighteen—we’re adults. This isn’t sixteen and pregnant, and I’m not going to try to talk my friends into having kids.” She takes a long, shaky breath. “And to make it all worse, I’m nursing a broken ankle. Anyway, I’ll get over it.”
Cassidy’s mouth turns down at the corners. “You don’t have to get over it. That all absolutely sucks.”
“Kinda, yeah. It’s my only shower. My boyfriend’s emancipated, and my dad is single and clueless. This was going to be my only celebration. But me and Shawn—my boyfriend—are stoked. We wanted a baby before he left for the Navy.” She wipes beneath her eye again. “Sorry, I’m not usually messy in front of strangers.”
“It’s okay. I’m always messy in front of strangers. It’s far preferable to being messy around people you actually know. And you know what I think?”
Lena’s smile is timid. “What?”
Cassidy signals the bartender. “I think it’s time to celebrate.”
…
I fork a piece of Funfetti cake into my mouth, gobsmacked.
Cassidy conjured an entire party out of thin air and changed the entire atmosphere of this diner, and all I can do is stuff my face and watch. In the span of an hour, she commandeered the entire bar and inspired diner-goers to join in the fun of (intrusively?) predicting the baby’s weight and height in the name of party sport.
She invented a baby game that requires only napkins and jelly—it was very gross and involved changing pretend diapers, but the creativity was top notch—and roped the staff into celebrating a woman they don’t even know.
And the icing on the Funfetti? When Lena told Cassidy that she was doing a nautical nursery to celebrate the baby’s dad joining the Navy, Cassidy and the wait staff sang a goddamn sea shanty. And it wasn’t some half-ass delivery like you’d hear at a birthday party. They whole-assed it, plastic cups thrust in the air like they’re wielding pints of beer on a swaying ship, voices ringing through the diner.
In a surprising twist of mercy, she didn’t force me to participate. I got to sit back and watch it all unfold.
When it’s time for Lena to go, Cassidy jumps to her feet to retrieve Lena’s crutches from their spot against the wall. I hear the beginning of their contact info exchange as Cassidy helps her out.
When Cassidy reappears, her eyes meet mine across the diner.
A charge of electricity shoots down my spine, and I grip my knees. I imagine this is what it’s like to befriend a stage performer. A blip of shock registers when they approach you after the show. It’s a little shocking to remember they recognize you or know you.
As she gets closer, though, the buzz doesn’t stop. And when she smiles, it radiates through me.
I jump to my feet.
“Ready to go?” Her hand drifts over the sleeves of my hoodie, which are tied around her waist. “We can walk off this food. Might as well make the best of downtown Kansas City, right?”
Swallowing thickly, I place my hands on her shoulders and slide past her. “Maybe we should just wait at the train station. Don’t want to risk missing it.”
Her laugh is wind-chimey as she trails me out the diner’s door. “We’ve got several hours, but sure.”
I’m thrown off-kilter when we step into the waning afternoon sun. Old, unmatching buildings lining the city block stand awash in golds and oranges. After the day we’ve had, it feels like it’s been light out for a hundred years.
The back of my neck prickles as Cassidy dances past me. “This place is more charming than I expected. I’m easily enchanted by a city.”
“Aren’t you exhausted?” I say, a little sharper than I intend.
She prances down the sidewalk in series of steps and jumps that would put most people on their ass. “I feel pretty good, actually.”
I wave at her legs. “What is this you’re doing?”
“Technically speaking?” Her spine straightens, and she extends her arms. “Leaps. Tombe, pas de bourrée, glissade, jeté.”
I give up on trying not to watch her. Whatever correct looks like for this sequence, something tells me she nails it. Jeté must mean air split in another language. “Seems challenging in heels.”
She waits for me to catch up and starts to walk backward. “I used to perform in jazz heels. This ain’t nothing.”
My words tie themselves in a knot on my tongue as she grins at me. It’s my turn to talk, but I’ve got nothing.
I blink past her, zeroing in on a distant fire escape. The cold, industrial metal holds my eye, but not my interest. “So dance, huh? Why?”
She falls into step beside me. “Dance is my life. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”
My thoughts flit back to the diner and the look on Lena’s face when she thanked Cassidy for her makeshift party. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you don’t know me very well?” The words have no punch, none of her usual humor, like she’s merely stating a fact.
“You’re good with people, that’s for damn sure. It’s like you collect them or something. The lady at the car rental counter, the tow truck driver, and then Lena.” The cool breeze nips my skin. “Being good with people is the hardest skill, if you ask me.”
“I’m friendly, maybe. But anyone can talk to strangers. It’s how you are with the people who know you best that determines whether you’re good with people.”
“I disagree. Especially on the part about talking to strangers. Not everyone can do that.”
The airiness works its way back into her tone. I peek down in time to catch the smile tugging at her lips. “Wow, I’m not sure you and I have ever disagreed before. This is uncharted territory.”
I stifle a laugh as I shove my hands in my pocket. “Do you think you’ll work in dance forever? Is that your long-term plan?”
“Hard to say. Plans make me antsy.”
“Plans make you antsy?” I press. “They’re supposed to do the opposite.”
“Yeah, but when you have a plan, and it doesn’t work out, then you’re disappointed. Best not to have one, wouldn’t you say?”
“No way. I live for a good plan.”
A dark laugh darts out of her mouth. “My mother would love you.” We turn a corner and the Amtrak station comes into view. “Enough about me. What waits for you in California?”
Her question is the conversational equivalent of a piano falling on the concrete. Sophie’s evasion, the canceled cruise, and the ongoing silence about Mom come barreling to the forefront of my mind. “Family.”
“Some kind of event?”
“Nothing as fun as a wedding.” I swiftly divert the conversation before it touches anything too heavy. “So Berkeley’s going with you, huh?”
“She’s my plus-one.”
This piece of information tucks itself into my brain, like it intends to stay a while. It curls up right next to I’m dating myself and the breathy way her voice sounded when she told this bit of information to the tow truck driver.
Sparks flicker in my chest.
I quickly stomp them out. Cassidy’s personal life has no bearing on my own. In a matter of hours, we’ll go our separate ways and she’ll take all these bits of trivia with her. And I’ll go my way, possessing niche dance lingo. I don’t get to be relieved that she’s single or curious about where she’s going.
Cassidy ducks into a store with the word boutique in the title in search of a gift for her sister, which gives me the perfect excuse to take some space and reset my thoughts.
I wander down the sidewalk, learning the features of the new phone, passing in and out of the shadows of neatly groomed trees with gnarled roots that threaten to crack the sidewalk.
After a quick call to Sophie that ends with no answer, a California number lights up the screen. Reflexively, I answer.
“Hello, this is Rose returning your voicemail from Regency Floral. I understand it’s urgent?”
Urgent. Florals.
My pulse quickens, and I spin on my heel. “Uh—hi, yes. Let me… My friend called you.” I hightail it down the sidewalk. “She was trying to reach you about an order. I’ll go get her.”
“Sorry, you’re breaking up badly. I just need to clarify the replacement order. Ms. Bliss said she’ll take whatever matches the warm color scheme, but we’ve only got bold cool tones. She could do a contrasting”—she cuts out for several seconds as I close in on the shop—“not the muted shades she’s wanting. We’ve got such limited stock after the cooler accident. Is she open to a darker color profile?”
“Uh—” I glean about 10 percent of what she’s talking about. I lunge for the shop door. “I’m running to grab her.”
A bell jingles above my head.
I’m greeted by a mannequin in a leather and lace lingerie set, and racks of frilly things crowding the small space.
Oh.
I turn, ready to cut and run.
But then…the damn flowers. Cassidy would probably neuter me if I mess up wedding-related stuff. She needs to take this call.
I groan internally and step into the store, clutching the phone like a lifeline.
An employee with a tape measure hanging over her shoulders struts my way. “How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for my friend. Red hair, chatty?”
“Yes! Right this way.” She books it for the back of the store. I try to put on my blinders as I trail her, but displays keep catching my eye.
My pulse skyrockets at the thought of Cassidy shopping here. Whether it’s for a gift or not.
The employee comes to a stop, gesturing at the back wall. “She’s in there.”
Behind a curtain, as in—
Jesus. This woman led me straight to the dressing rooms. Not even a room. Rooms have doors.
The saleswoman steps up to the curtain. “You still okay in there, hon?”
Cassidy’s voice floats back. “Yes, thanks. This is a bit tight on me, which will be perfect for her.”
“Oh, wonderful. That piece will be great for a honeymoon. If you need anything else, just holler!”
Yup, this was a big fucking mistake.
Because the last thing on Earth I need right now is the image of Cassidy wearing something tight, probably lace, possibly leather—
“Are you still there?” Rose bleats into the phone. Her tone suggests it’s not her first time trying to get my attention.
It spurs me into action. “Yes, sorry.” Clearing my throat, I step closer to the dressing room and raise my voice. “Uh—Cassidy?”
“Luke?” Her tone takes a turn for the horrified. A shuffling happens. “What are you doing here?”
“The florist is on the phone.”
“Oh! Oh, God. Okay.” She swears under her breath. “Can you talk to them?”
“Flowers aren’t my forte. Should I set up a time for you to call back?”
“No! I need to give my sister some sort of good news immediately. Can you ask if they have backup flowers I asked about?”
“Why can’t you? I could slide the phone under.”
“I’m, um…working on a zipper. And some buttons and ties. Need both hands to take it off.”
Damn it all.
She’s stripping.
My heartbeat thunders in my ear as I try to stay focused. “Rose, my friend wants to know if you have the backups she asked about in her voicemail.”
“That’s what I was explaining. She wants muted colors, and I’ve only got bolds. And she specifically said no hydrangea, but I have a surplus of white hydrangea that could work well for her table settings.”
My brain scrambles to understand. “Cassidy, are you okay with white hydrangea for the tables?”
The sound of unzipping kicks me low in the gut. My body doesn’t miss a beat, all but shouting at me that I have a perfectly good hand that could help with her undressing needs.
I grind my teeth. That is not happening.
“Hydrangea will work,” Cassidy says.
“Also, tell your friend we couldn’t get any ranunculus,” Rose adds. “Is she open to peonies?”
“Cass, are you open to pennies for the bridal bouquet?”
“You mean peonies?”
“Peonies are gorgeous. Had those at my daughter’s wedding,” the salesclerk offers from five feet away. Nice to know we have an audience.
“I’m fine with pee-oh-nees,” Cassidy says, enunciating.
I switch to speakerphone, since being a human parrot clearly isn’t cutting it. Unfortunately, that means I have to get even closer so they can hear each other, holding the phone over top of the curtain.
After a few more back-and-forths finalizing the order, a sigh of relief escapes Cassidy’s mouth that has nothing to do with the call. I know this because I’m close enough to hear her lingerie hitting the ground in the faintest thud.
“There. Got it.”
A surge of filthy heat pulses low in my gut.
She successfully wriggled out of whatever she was wearing, which means she’s now in nothing at all on the other side of that flimsy curtain.
I say goodbye to Rose. I think.
“Hey,” Cassidy calls before I can escape. “Thanks. That was really helpful.”
I shrug it off. “Don’t worry about it.”
Another zipper. She’s back in her jeans now. “I’ll buy you a bouquet of pennies for your efforts.”
I smile for no one, because she can’t see me. “More of a quarters guy.”
A giggle fills the air. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Warmth trickles across my shoulders and down my back. It lodges in the center of my chest, making itself at home.
I spend the rest of her gift-buying trip outside, angled toward the frigid breeze, trying to shake the heat coursing through my body. I don’t get to be relieved that she’s handled her sister’s flower problem or thrilled that I helped make it happen. I will not wonder if she bought herself anything in there.
The less I think about a girl I won’t see again after tomorrow, the better.